The 3 P's
by rainbow letters
Summary: It started with a cactus. A small potted cactus on 221B's window ledge.


This little one piece transpired when I was trying for the opening of my other one-shot 'Scheduled Intercourse'.

I realised that when I started writing it, that it would work much better on it's own.

Enjoy!

Summary: It started with a cactus. A small potted cactus on 221B's window ledge.

* * *

It started with a cactus. A small potted cactus on 221B's window ledge.

By the end of the month the flat started to represent something of a botanist's paradise.

"Is this a new hobby, Sherlock?" Molly questioned as she scratched Toby's ear, who was clawing the trunk of a small potted palm tree.

"Hmm, something like that I suppose." He spoke to the bonsai he was carefully pruning.

"Okay, well I would advise to maybe stick with what we have. If we get any more I think we're at risk of carbon dioxide poisoning." She mumbled as she inspected a rather intimidating looking Venus fly trap.

"Don't be ridiculous Molly, it would take approximately-" He stopped in his tracks as he glanced to her face. "Oh, you were joking." She let out a soft laugh and walked over and kissed him on the forehead.

"Yes, you idiot. But seriously Sherlock, no more plants."

...

Molly's words fell on death ears as Sherlock's plant obsession continued for the next month, with twenty more plotted plants finding a home in a very cramped 221B. Then his attention became focused on a new target.

She had to say she was slightly startled when she discovered Sherlock had developed an obsession with Toby. She became increasingly aware that she was never the one to fill Toby's food and water bowl anymore. She then realised it had been two weeks since she had emptied his litter tray. What had left her utterly speechless was to watch her cat do its business in their own toilet on a Tuesday evening. The puppy she definitely did not see coming.

The fawn coloured whippet bounded up to her as she came up the stairs to the flat. Two days. She had been away for two days to Manchester for a conference and he'd left her speechless once again. He justified that for research purposes a cat was far too insufficient and limiting. Man's best friend, which had undergone thousands of years of breeding to create the most successful domesticated host, was far more suitable for training purposes.

"You didn't feel the need to consult me about this decision?" She asked, finally finding her voice, as she stared down wide eyed at the pup who was tugging at her shoe lace.

"It's for my own research purposes. Why would I have needed to consult you about it?" He watched her from his chair. The dog training book in his lap was temporarily forgotten.

"You remember this thing called communication don't you?" He responded with a raised eyebrow. "Never mind. So, have you named him?" Molly dropped down to her knees to properly introduce herself to their new permanent resident.

"I didn't think it was appropriate." He sniffed at the air and then resumed his reading.

"So you just planned on calling him dog?" Molly asked bluntly, tickling the belly of the pup who had tired of playing with her lace.

"Or Canis lupus." He spoke to the book in his lap.

"Sherlock, you cannot name our dog after it's Latin name." She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him from where she sat on the floor.

"It's perfectly logical to me." She noticed how he smirked when she said the word 'our'. She knew he would be smug about her seemingly accepting attitude towards the puppy.

"I will not allow it. Who was your favourite scientist?"

"Of which science?"

"Sherlock, work with me a little here please?"

"Fine, naturalist would have to be Darwin, purely based-"

"Perfect! Darwin it is!"

"Don't you want to let me finish my list?"

"I don't have all night Sherlock."

"So, why did you choose a whippet?"

"They are described as dignified and aloof. Nevertheless a noble and trustworthy companion. And completely suited to our arrangement."

"Reminds me of somebody I know." Molly glanced to Sherlock out of the corner of her eye.

"I always knew it would be a breed associated with the hound group. It was a matter of selecting which one." Sherlock ignored her quip.

"My Auntie had a whippet when we were young. She described them as 40 miles per hour couch potatoes." Sherlock didn't respond, he looked towards Molly who had now scooped the puppy into her lap, making animated faces to the seemingly interested pup.

"Well I think he likes me." She said in a playful voice as the puppy licked her face as she bent her head down towards him.

"I think it's the half eaten corned beef pasty in your coat pocket that he likes more."

...

A couple of weeks later, when the pair had retired to bed, Darwin nestled under the duvet where their feet rested. Molly watched Sherlock on his laptop who currently had fifteen tabs open about dog behaviour.

"So, what's the next obsession?" She questioned as she studied the photo of a pack of wolves on the screen.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock remarked glancing down at where her head rested on his shoulder.

"Well, you know first it was the plants, then Toby and now Darwin. So I was curious what's next in your erratic scheme of obsessions?" Sherlock swiftly closed the laptop, and shoved it off of his lap.

"It's not an obsession, it's training." Molly looked at him blankly. Sherlock responded by pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration and exhaling loudly.

"I read an article." He sighed.

"You read an article?" Molly repeated with a questioning tone.

"Yes. And it defined that there were three distinct stages to test the human attribute of responsibility." He sounded slightly irritated and crossed his arms against his chest.

"Responsibility?" Molly felt more confused with every answer he gave her.

"Plant. Pet. Parent." Molly took a deep breath as she registered his words. A silence interluded the pair and Molly sat up and away from Sherlock.

"So you're saying because you almost successfully looked after fifty species of plant and both Toby and Darwin are still breathing this qualifies you for parenthood?" She asked him with her knees drawn up to her chest.

"Well I have obviously recorded more detailed measurements of my project success. But as you have so delightfully summarised, yes I do believe I am now qualified. Also I find your word choice of almost slightly harsh. Only one plant didn't survive and it was hardly my fault." His posture remained unchanged, but his voice became softer.

"No, that's because stage two of your plan ensured stage one met its grizzly end on the pavement below." She sighed and hugged her knees closer.

"Have I upset you Molly?" He turned to her then as he watched her closely.

"No Sherlock, I just think that this isn't usually how couples tell each other that they are ready to try for a family." His expression was perplexed as she answered.

"Well, I'm not a 'usual' type of guy." He spoke defensively.

"I know. It's just I wasn't expecting this conversation with you." She whispered.

"Oh. Well, now you know." He spoke and turned his head away.

"What if I'm not ready? Did you ever consider that?" She asked bluntly, digging her fingers into her covered calves.

"What? You have always been ready. The way you are with Rosie is nothing but maternal. I'm the one who had something to prove." His words left Molly stunned. All this time Sherlock had been wanting to start a family, but had felt that he wasn't worthy enough to even have a discussion with her about it. She reached out and took his hand into her own. "Did you think I would have shut you down, Sherlock? Because you do know that nobody can truly prepare themselves to be the best parents. Regardless of how well you look after dogs and cats and plants. That's not how it works." He turned towards her and brought his hand to her cheek.

"I know. But I needed to have some sort of grounding. I have never been responsible for another living thing in my life. I didn't think I could have dived straight in with a child. But I suppose the other question is are you ready?" His thumb caressed her cheek softly.

"I don't know. But what I do know is that we're no spring chickens." She leant into his palm and looked towards the ceiling.

"Age shouldn't be a deciding factor, Molly." She closed her eyes tight shut at his words. She felt like she needed to pinch herself. It didn't feel real that she was having this conversation with Sherlock.

"Is it me? Is it the thought of having a child with me?" His words cut through her like a knife. She glanced towards him and she had never seen Sherlock look so rejected. And she wondered how he could possibly think that when sometimes she had dreamed of a small child with a dark mop of curls and lagoon coloured eyes.

"God, no Sherlock. I have thought about it. A lot" She straddled him and drew her arms around his neck. The commotion disturbed Darwin, who jumped from the bed and padded out of the bedroom. "It's just your lifestyle and persona never gave any indication that this would be something you ever wanted. I just assumed you didn't want it." She moved her head against his own.

"Well, I do. Very much so." She laughed against his lips at his answer, before kissing him hard.

"So does that settle it then, my darling. Are we both in agreement?" His hands brushed up her thigh and under her pyjama shorts.

"Hmm. But one more thing." She purred into his ear. "I don't think we have space for a baby now due to your 'experiments'." He chuckled and moved his hand from her thigh round to her bum.

"Consider the plants gone, but the dog stays I'm afraid." He tugged gently on her ear lobe with his teeth, and she let out a soft moan.

"I can live with that." She breathed as her cotton shorts were pulled from her mid sentence. Seconds later Sherlock was pulling at her black vest. Sherlock rolled on top of her nuzzling into her neck.

"Good. Because I am ready to implement the final stage."

* * *

I endeavour to own my own fawn coloured Whippet one day.

For now, he's all Sherlock's and Molly's.

I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
